Malk the Knifes dangerous enough without handing him Aberdeen on a plate too. Hes already got everything south of Dundee.
The wheelchair bleeped, then whined back a few feet, before spinning around to face Logan. Wee Hamish wasnt smiling any more, instead a frown made hills and valleys in the pale skin of his forehead. I shall endeavour to find out who is responsible for your burning victim. And dont worry, if whoever did it is on my team, theyll be getting a. . disciplin-ary hearing. This isnt the kind of legacy I want to leave behind.
Outside, Logans fifth-hand Punto was bathed in the glow of a security light. A huge man leaned back against the bonnet, tree-trunk arms folded over a great barrel of a chest. His three-piece suit looked brand new the waistcoat straining over that vast belly. Shiny black brogues. Face a patchwork of scar tissue and fat, knitted together with a greying beard. A nose that was barely there any more.
Logan nodded. Reuben.
No response.
OK. . Logan took his keys out. Thought you were more of an overalls and steel toecaps kind of guy.
Reuben just stared at him. Then slowly hauled himself off the bonnet.
The Puntos suspension rose about three inches.
Logan drew his shoulders back, brought up his chin. Go on then, out with it.
But Reuben just turned and lumbered off into the darkness, brogues scrunching on the gravel. Didnt say a word.
Logan stood there until the huge man disappeared, then slid in behind the wheel. The world was full of bloody weirdoes.
The windows of the caravan next door glowed pale yellow in the darkness and Logan climbed out of the Punto, engine ticking and pinging in the silence. On the other side of the River Don, the lights of the big Tesco glittered through the trees.
A noise, behind him. .
Logan spun around, hands balling into fists.
Nothing.
Grove Cemetery was a mass of silhouettes, reaching up the hill to the railway line and the dual carriageway at the top. The first three rows of headstones were just visible in the orange streetlight. Beyond their reach everything was black and silent. Just the faint rumble of late-night traffic working its way through the Haudagain roundabout.
Hello?
Stand very still, dont breathe, listen. .
Nope, he was on his own. Which was just as well no one about to see him acting like something out of a cheap horror movie.
Twit.
Logan found his house key and- Stopped. Another knot of bones hung from the door handle. More bloody chicken bones, wrapped up in a ribbon that was stained a greeny-grey by the sodium glow.
Very funny. He unhooked the bundle and chucked it into the bushes that separated the tiny caravan park from the riverbank. Little bastards.
Just because the Grampian Country Chickens factory used to be across the road, didnt mean people had to be a dick about it.
Very funny. He unhooked the bundle and chucked it into the bushes that separated the tiny caravan park from the riverbank. Little bastards.
Just because the Grampian Country Chickens factory used to be across the road, didnt mean people had to be a dick about it.
Sunday
4
. .sometime in the next week. And well have more top eighties hits between now and nine, but first heres the weather. .
Unggg. . Logan rolled over and peered up at the bedroom ceiling. A slice of golden light jabbed through the gap in the curtains, making motes of dust shine against the scarlet walls. He reached out a hand, but Samantha wasnt there her side of the bed a rumpled mess of duvet and pillows. Always was a restless sleeper.
The alarm clock blinked 06:15 at him in cheerless green.
. .expect the sunshine to continue all the way through till Tuesday morning, when an area of high pressure from the easts going to bring rain with it. .
He blinked and yawned, scratched, then flopped back in the bed. Come on, you lazy sod: up.
Maybe in a minute.
Logan dug his knife into the jar. Tea and toast, tea and toast, la-la-la-la tea and toast. . There was only just enough Marmite in the jar to leave a thin skid mark across the melted butter. Better than nothing. He slouched through to the living room, taking breakfast with him.
A permatanned face on the TV grinned out at the piles of books and cardboard boxes littering the room. . .February next year. I went to see two of the films stars on the set. .
The little red light on the answering machine blinked at him. Four messages. Probably all from Steel, moaning at him.
Two women appeared on the telly, sitting in directors chairs in front of a poster for Witchfire. They smiled and waved at the camera. Pretty, in a superficial, Hollywood, FHM-calendar-girl kind of way. One with natural-looking ginger hair, the other with full-on post-box scarlet like Samanthas. The words NICHOLE FYFE and MORGAN MITCHELL appeared across a banner at the bottom of the screen.
Logan pressed the button on the answering machine and the electronic voice droned into the untidy room, Message One: It was replaced by DCI Steels familiar, gravelly tones. Laz? You there? Pick up. Pause. Im no kidding, get your arse-
Delete.
On the TV, Mr Fake-Tan simpered. And youre a redhead now!
The one called Nichole laughed. There was a slight trans-Atlantic twang to her accent, but the Aberdonian was still there underneath: I know, isnt it great? We both had to do it for the film, but I really like it, its so liberating. And absolutely no one recognizes me: its like being a completely different person!
Morgan twirled a lock of her screaming red hair, smiling at the camera as if she was about to rip its clothes off and make it do unspeakably kinky things right there on the studio floor. Her accent was pure New York, Everyone should try it at least once. Unleash the naughty, people!
Message Two: was followed by, Laz, Im serious-
Delete.
Nichole, whats it like starring in something as big as Witchfire?
Its immense. My first really meaty dramatic role, and-
Message Three: A mans voice, sounding depressed. Hello? This is a message for Logan McRae. Logan, its Prestons the architects, its been two years since we got the roof on the flat. . Sigh. And I wondered if youre any nearer making a decision about going ahead with the build?
Should really call him back.
Delete.
-was such a shock: Id actually auditioned for Mrs Shepherd.
Morgan flapped her hands, grinning. And I was up for Rowan, but apparently someone was just too fabulous-
Logan ripped a bite out of his toast, chasing it down with a slurp of tea.
Message Four: An ominous pause. Logan, its your mother. You know I dont like talking to this thing-
Delete.
-so much more fun not having to be a goody two-shoes the whole time. Morgan placed a hand on her chest. Lucky hand. . Three years on CSI New Orleans, and I really wanted to get to grips with a darker character for a change. Get back to my roots.
You Have No More Messages.
He finished off the toast. Have to buy another jar of Marmite. And maybe some squeezy cheese. Breakfast of champions.
Nichole, I have to ask you about coming back to Aberdeen after Hollywood.
Its so great to be home! People in the north-east are so real and down to earth, its incredibly refreshing after all that, onscreen, Nichole Fyfe made quote bunnies with her fingers, show business stuff.
Quote bunnies. What kind of person did that?
And I understand youre running a competition so one lucky viewer can win a walk-on part in-
Logan jabbed the remote controls off button and the picture disappeared into darkness.
In the bedroom, Madness were banging on about finally being old enough to buy condoms. He slouched through to join them, drinking his milky tea between hauling on socks and pants and trousers.
. .and House of Fun. Speaking of fun, fancy winning yourself an exclusive VIP tour of the new Witchfire movie being filmed right here in the north-east? Well, stay tuned because youre in for a treat after David Bowie. Lets Dance!
Bloody film was like a virus.
He pulled on a white shirt that deserved a much better iron than the one hed given it, sooking his fingers clean of butter and Marmite before doing up the buttons.
Tie, or no tie? He picked a couple from the wardrobe, then stood there, staring at the sheet of paper taped to the glass.
A blaring rendition of If I Only Had a Brain came from his mobile. Logan blinked. Checked his watch. Been standing there like a turnip for five minutes.
Shudder.
He sank onto the bed and worked his feet into his shoes with one hand, answering the phone with the other. What?
Rennie sniffed. And good morning to you too.
For Gods sake. Youre not six.
Fine. Weve got another battered Oriental male this ones from Laos. They beat the crap out of him, then took a hammer to his knees and ankles.
Anything?
Wont say a word. According to the ambulance crew, he was off his tits when they brought him in doped to the eyeballs, reeking of cannabis.
What about the jewellery heist?
Like juggling mud. Been dragging people out their beds all night thanks for that, by the way, always nice to be sworn and spat at for a whole shift. Really boosted my morale.
So what youre saying is: you didnt get anywhere.
Thats not fair! Not my fault the gang havent tried shifting the stuff yet, is it? Maybe theyve taken it down south, maybe theyre stashing it for a couple of years, or shipping it overseas. How am I supposed to deal with that? Moan, whinge, complain, grumble, whine. On and on and on.
He stuck his phone on the bedside cabinet, let Rennie enjoy his wee petulant moment while he laced up his shoes.
When he picked up the phone again, Rennie was still going.
. .never get any credit. And how come Im always on nights? Its not-
Much though Id love to sit here and listen to you bitch the day away, Ive got work to get to, so-
A knock on the caravans door, loud and insistent.
Gods sake. . Logan put a hand over the mouthpiece. JUST A MINUTE! Then back to the phone, marching out of the bedroom and across the hall to the front door. Get on to the lab I want those forensics chased. And dont let them give you any crap about three to six weeks. Tuesday, by the latest.
Would you like a magic flying unicorn while Im at it?